Getting over it.

I wrote this post a long time ago, it was in June or July last year I think. I never wanted to publish it, until now. I think I finally made peace with it.


"Last weekend a patient of mine died.
It's been the first time, that I've been with a patient until the very end.

I mean, I've seen people dying. I've been there with colleagues but I've never been the one who was responsible for them in that moment.

So my patient died.
It wasn't a big surprise, actually he's been dying for weeks. His pancreas was rotten and started disgesting itself.  My Doctor told me: "We are giving at most 1µg Arterenol per minute, not more."

At the end of my shift he arrived at that line, his blood pressure still lowered and he died within a few minutes.

I stood there, next to his bed. 
One of my favourite colleagues looked into my room and asked whether everything was ok. 
"He's dead."
"I know, I meant: Is everything ok with you?"
 "This is the first time a patient dies while I am responsible for him."
"Tiny, are you crying?"
"...No.."
"Ok, I'll close the door behind me and you can be alone for a couple of minutes, ok? Just call me, if you need anything, alright?"
"Sure, thank you." "